Burning Bridges
by Mari83
Summary: Another what if story from Pollo Loco, dealing with the strains Lydecker’s photos and Ben’s death puts on Max’s and Logan’s relationship. S1 and ML of course
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel.

**A/N:** Hugest thanks to Shywriter for betaing and finding plot-holes as well as a title (prevented my head from imploding). All remaining mistakes are mine.

This is a response to intstebri's challenge on DAR about what would happen if Max found out that Lydecker sent Logan the photos of the young X5 killing the prisoner and plays during and after 'Pollo Loco'.

(I promise that the next update will be 'Questions', no matter the outcome.)

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Max just disappeared from his life. No more joking and chatting over dinners, no more teasing and banter when they prepared for a mission, no more moments of shared silence when words just would have been too much. She didn't react to his calls, was always "on a run" when he called at Jam Pony or "had just left" when he did the same in the evenings at Crash. Even Cindy wouldn't tell him more than the repeated mantra that Max didn't want to see him – still didn't want to see him – in a voice full of reserved reproach that hurt him while at the same time it felt fully deserved.

It was all the fault of the photos, those pictures that Logan had seen so often that he had memorized every grim little detail. From the instant he had opened Lydecker's file, he just couldn't stop staring at them, driven by a morbid curiosity for that kid in the forest who had been Max.

Logan really had tried, he had tried so hard to stay calm and just and neutral … but this was Max ,and with her it always had been different, with the good things… and also, as he realized now, with the bad.

Maybe his overly strong reaction came from the strain of the days before, with Max brother showing up, seemingly having turned into a serial killer, causing Max to slip away from him and refusing to let him help or even just to talk. She had just left after that last, heated conversation, disregarding her usual pattern of checking in with him and leaving him to wait in nervous worry.

_Upon hearing the click of the opening door that evening after he had last seen her, __Logan quickly wheeled to the entrance, hoping it was Max, back at her usual self. And there she was, standing in his corridor, with her clothes dirty and wet and a strange look he couldn't quite decipher… There was grief and anger, confusion and fear, and, as he continued staring at her Logan noticed her __red and swollen __eyes , as if she had been crying. He had never seen Max cry._

_She didn't answer to his quietly que__stioning "Max…?", and before he could ask her what had happened, she turned to disappear itno the shower, staying there that long that Logan was sure that the water had long turned cold. Finally she came out, firmly wrapped into the red bathrobe she'd come to see as hers, as if its fluffiness could protect her from all the world's evils. _

_His concern growing, Logan __followed her into the living room area, watching how she settled onto the sofa with his back to him. Without saying a word, he stayed behind, feigning to be immerged into an art book while he pondered whether he should leave her alone._

_Then, before he could come to any sensible decision, Bling came in, giving Logan a short moment of relief at seeing someone who could __help him deal with Max. It dissolved quickly into sinking feeling of dreadful anticipation when, in a voice that seemed a bit more sober than his usual calm , the trainer handed him a large envelope. Logan knew that it could only be from Lydecker, he was the only one using that contact room for a good while… and still he opened it._

_Soon after, __Max left, looking for comfort and an absolution Logan couldn't give her in his shock about what he was seeing. As soon as the door had safely closed behind her, Logan wheeled himself to his desk for a thorough inspection of Lydecker's envelope. For a long moment his fingers hovered over the innocent, beige paper, as if a mere touch was enough to dissolve each and every one of the many happy memories he had of Max. __Finally__ Logan let his fingers drop down onto the file in uneasy uncertainty of what he would find, feeling a throbbing headache built up, as he took out picture after picture. __With every new photo he examined, he dreaded the next one more, his agony growing together with the nagging wish to stop this – to just go to bed and forget what he had seen. But he went on, his hand almost automatically reaching for another sheet of glossy paper while he tried to force his upset mind back to a state of cool, methodical analysis._

_He didn'__t succeed, hadn't succeeded from the beginning. _

_From__ the __very second he realized what the file contained__, Logan's emotions had spiked up, dominating him in a way that scared him, shaking his self-image as someone who was always in control of himself. Doubt and something else, something that came close to horror, had hit him, banishing his worries about Max, who now was out there in the night, alone. In an intensity that had mocked his outward composure, a burning hatred flared up in Logan, an irritated anger at Lydecker's sick knowledge of how to evoke his doubts and mistrust… but even while he cursed the colonel for drawing him in with his perverse game of manipulation, Logan knew that the ultimate blame was with himself, that the photos could only trigger something that must have been there all along. He knew that all he needed to do was to stop looking, to shred the photos, or even better, to burn them, as if such a radical act would simultaneously erase the violently vivid imprints on his mind…_

_But Logan continued to stare at them. It was all he did from the moment Max quietly slipped out his door until he prematurely went to bed, unable to proceed with his work or to do what he felt he should do: go out to search for Max and find out what had shaken her so much that she wouldn't tell him…_

_There was her picture, together with the beaten, blood-covered body of a man. It left Logan with the terrible conclusion that the guy's death had been the making of a group of children who hadn't even reached puberty. It told him that one of those children, who now was working for Eyes Only, had killed an innocent._

_A streak of blood was smeared on her face – if it was __her own or that of the man, Logan couldn't tell – covering her lips, those wonderfully soft and warm lips which he'd always hoped to kiss again one day. Now he wondered if she'd tasted the blood._

_She was surrounded by others like her, a row of little soldiers looking grim and determined __with their uniforms and shaved heads that denied them the basic privilege of individuality. Those must be Max's siblings, the persons who always gave her a rare, brilliant softness, the ones she missed and _for whom she searched_ and whom she wished to find above anything else in the world…_

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_It was __in this state of disturbed confusion, of doubting Max while equally hating himself and Lydecker, that she found him the next morning, his thumb flipping through the stack of shiny photos again and again, fingers touching the smooth, brilliant surface that separated him from Max's past. _

_As __he had so often, Logan somehow felt her presence without having to turn around, as if her completely silent apparition tickled the hair in his neck or triggered some kind of kind of inner alarm. _

_Usually__ Max's appearance was a welcome distraction and the cause of a sudden, fluttering spike of his heartbeat stemming from his startled reaction… or so he told himself. Today, however, he was afraid to see her. In a lack of planning that was confusingly atypical, Logan so far had successfully avoided considering what would happen if Max was confronted with those pictures. He simply had banned it from his thoughts, too occupied throughout the last evening of gloomy, doubtful brooding, too restless during tonight's fitful sleep, filled with dreams of children, like a pack of wolves, hunting down a panicking, breathless man._

_So __he turned slowly, with the depressing knowledge that in just a second something would be destroyed between them, irreversibly, something that was much worse than any damage Lydecker's threats and warnings ever could have done._

_Up until now it had been only him and his secret doubts. __He could just have chosen the easier way of figuring out things alone, neither facing Max with the pictures nor with his betrayal of contacting Lydecker. Now this option was lost, forcing them to deal with this the hard way._

_Logan__ moved his head just in time to see Max turn around and slowly walk toward the door, head bowed down, refusing to acknowledge him. She seemed calm, showed none of the emotions that might have hinted how to approach her and which he would have understood so well… anger for contacting Lydecker behind her back, insult for not asking her about what had happened the day the photos had been made, hurt disappointment that he trusted her enemy more than he did her… _

_But there was none of it, only __an empty stare that in its lifeless beauty reminded Logan of a department story mannequin. It was as if someone had switched off all signs of humanity in her, turning her into the person her creators wanted her to be. _

_Without thinking __Logan called her name, a strangely strangled "Max" that was carried only by his wish to stop her from leaving. He had no idea what to tell her, how to explain his behaviour. As he observed her motionless back for some seconds, looking harsh and rejecting in its averted pose, Logan wished that things could just be like before. _

_With a slow, stiff movement, Max __turned to look at him, evenly, her calm face still showing no reproach, no anger. Just sadness and regret, as if she had expected something like this to happen all along, something that had opened his eyes about what she really was: A killer, an animal driven by raw instinct and cruel hunger for blood, not the naïve, beautiful, girl next door living the life of a simple, average bike messenger. Not somebody's friend. Not someone he could love. _

_Then, as he failed to explain, to say something to keep her back, Logan suddenly found himself confronted with Max's back again as she walked out of__ the door, never showing a crack in her eerie façade of stoic fatalism. It was a response that was so much worse than anything else could have been, leaving Logan helpless and without words._

It was the last time he had seen her.

Only after she was gone did Logan realize how much he'd gotten used to her presence. Without Max there was only work, file after file, case after case, broadcast after broadcast. The only interruptions were random, tasteless meals, their only justification to provide him with energy for his mission, short hours of sleep that had no other purpose than to keep the exhaustion at bay. There was no other sense, no other legitimating his existence than being the anonymous benefactor behind Eyes Only's blue and red mask.

Without Max it was again like in those weeks and months after he'd gotten out of the hospital, when he'd thought that this would be his life now, this and nothing else.

Then Max had come along, turning his missions into something that wasn't only grim work but an opportunity to talk, to smile and laugh, to have passionate discussions about morals that more than once, when her wits left him astounded, ended in her favour.

After some weeks she had started to come over just like that, even when there wasn't any legwork, the trace of insecurity on her face dissolving into a cocky grin when Logan offered her a snack, never knowing how welcome she was. He had never told her. He'd only fed her, with a lovingly prepared sandwich, a glass of milk together with a pre-emptive dose tryptophan or with a 'second breakfast', which he often suspected was actually her first. She had smiled shyly at his offer to raid his fridge whenever she wanted, but still mostly waited until he interrupted his work to prepare a sandwich for the both of them. Each shared meal, every exchange of stories and memories contributed to Logan's gently growing hope that maybe she wasn't only coming for the food.

But all this was over, suffocated by her past and his failure to come to terms with it.

…………….. to be continued (and yes, it really is M/L) ………….


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own Dark Angel.

**A/N**: Huge, marzipan-y thanks to Shywr1ter for betaing, making Bling more Bling-like and patiently answering my obsessed questions.

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Bling had hoped that things between Max and Logan would normalize on their own, that they just might get over the hurt feelings, disturbed trust and estrangement Lydecker's photos had caused.

He should have known better. It would have been a difficult situation for any two people; for Max and Logan, who even under normal circumstances retreated in hurt mortification upon having their intimate emotions exposed, it was a strain with an unpredictable outcome.

Maybe everything would have developed differently if they both had been in their usual state, with careful banter and wordless comfort. But even in the days before the photos Max and Logan had drifted apart, separated by something far more serious than just their usual quarrels, which so often were nothing but the amusingly predictable expression of their mutually denied attraction.

But the sudden appearance of Max's brother, otherwise a reason for joy, had brought up issues that sooner or later would have arisen anyway between the former child soldier aiming for mere survival and the high-minded crusader dreaming of universal justice: Max's unquestioning loyalty to her family, her belief that she alone could understand her siblings, causing her to shut out Logan whom she so far had trusted with everything concerning Manticore. She left him behind in the Penthouse, irritated at her behavior, worrying about her well-being… and already with a trickle of doubt. And there was Logan with his high morals and his nagging need to bring down every killer, no matter if he was Max's brother, forcing him to betray her by contacting Lydecker.

Bling just wished that these topics would have come up under different circumstances, without the added complication of Lydecker's perverse manipulation. He wished that he'd never brought Logan these damned photos.

_Like__on many evenings, Bling had checked the contact room on his way from work to Logan, and, as always, he opened the incoming mail, as Logan's bodyguard ensuring that Eyes Only's enemies didn't use this method to harm him. _

_He immediately recognized Max in the __grim features of the young girl with the shaved head and that smear of blood on her mouth, as if she had been slapped. Her eyes were wide and empty, hardened prematurely by experiences that would have been hard to take even for someone much older._

_As__Bling flipped through the pictures with ever-growing compassion for Max, the quiet emptiness of the contact room suddenly became stifling, almost as if the colonel was still sitting there at the table. _

_Instead of just disappearing from their lives __again as Logan had planned, Lydecker had turned the tables and now was manipulating Eyes Only with his sick games of psychological warfare. He had even managed to pull in Bling as well, making him the messenger for this simple yellow envelope with the power to destroy so much._

_Another person maybe just would have let the photos disappear, never even mentioning their existence. Bling however, couldn't give this option more than a brief, rueful thought, wishing that things could be that easy. It wasn't his job to censor Logan's post, how devastating its content might be, to patronize him and never give him the opportunity to deal with this on his own. And even if he held back the photos this time, Lydecker would find other ways to contact Logan, would just send another envelope bringing Bling in the same dilemma of wanting to protect Logan from the truth. _

_The oppressive silence __accompanied Bling in the car, clotting into foreboding dread on the way over to Fogle Towers. Without a doubt the shocking effect of the pictures would be bad enough on Logan… but what if Max ever got to see them? She would be confronted with the trauma of her childhood, faced with the idea that the man she had fooled so successfully before had now triumphed, even from the distance showing that she was nothing but the genetically enhanced killing machine he meant her to be._

_Twenty minutes later __Bling entered the quiet penthouse where he found Max curled up on the sofa, looking like a teenage girl in need of a hug. Somehow, with her wet hair and encased by the soft, red cotton of that bathrobe, she looked younger than her nine-year old self in the miniature combat gear. There was an odd vulnerability in the way she had turned away from Logan to stare out into the night almost yearningly, as if the velvety dark gave her something she couldn't find inside… as if the Penthouse had lost its comfort and warmth, it's function of an adopted sanctuary to which she could always turn for some quiet and peace. _

_Even__after the strain of the last days, Bling would have expected to see Logan fussing over her, hovering close by ready to offer some soothing words or at least showing his empathy by a little, consoling gesture like putting a sandwich and a glass of milk beside her. _

_H__owever, Logan sat apart, disinterestedly flipping through some art book and only occasionally glancing over to Max with a look of cool, distanced insecurity. This alone was enough to have Bling worried. He'd seen awkwardness between the two before, even annoyance or hot anger … but not this cool combination of distance and aversion, the otherwise so vibrant connection between them lost._

_As he approached Logan in outward calm, __Bling wished even more than before that he could just make Lydecker's envelope disappear. Instead he handed it wordlessly to Logan, hating himself for putting even more strain on both of them. _

_Then__, after a last, hesitating gaze back to Logan, Bling left reluctantly, aware that he couldn't really change anything, couldn't just with a snap of his fingers restore the warm, sparkling atmosphere usually so characteristic for them. _

_But instead of drivin__g home, Bling just sat in his car, wishing there was something he could do. He still was there when, after about 10 minutes of restless brooding, the familiar silhouette of Max on her motorcycle appeared from Fogle Towers' underground parking. Watching her disappear into the light drizzle, Bling tried to come up with some positive reason for why she left Logan so soon … but he didn't succeed._

Over the next few days he learned that his suspicion had been right. Logan was sulky and distracted, too immersed in his own gloomy world to react to his trainer's attempts to involve him into some kind of conversation. Max… was just absent.

Aware that he couldn't force things, Bling did what he always did with Logan: he stood back and observed, waiting for an opportunity to help, to offer his advice. Logan however acted as if nothing had happened. His pretence of normalcy would have been convincing – if there hadn't been the comparison to that other relaxed, quietly smiling Logan so often released by Max's presence.

So after several days Bling tried to approach the topic, tempting Logan with a casual remark while he had him on the therapy table. "I haven't seen Max lately. Is she okay?"

Knowing Logan's impressive talent in dodging uncomfortable issues, Bling's attempt came more from loyalty both towards Max and Logan and the growing urge to do something than from the expectation of making much of an impact.

He was right. As expected, all he got from Logan was a shrug, not making eye contact as he finished the last one of his curls. Finally, quickly slipping back into his chair to get away from Bling's unrelenting scrutiny, he offered an artificially casual "She must be busy."

Then he disappeared into the shower, leaving Bling behind trying to maintain his optimistic belief that with just a bit of time Max and Logan would get together again.

At week one after the pictures, he noted how Logan's usually overflowing fridge started to look both emptier and less interesting as the loss of his frequent dinner guest diminished his own appetite as well as his interest in the time-consuming task of hunting hard-to-find ingredients.

Fearing that Logan was falling back into the old habit of neglecting food in favor of work, Bling started to make sandwiches when he came over, much less sophisticated than those Logan usually produced. He put them wordlessly next to his boss who at least still had the grace to let his exaggerated glare at the mothering melt into in an absently sheepish "thanks" a moment later.

Sometimes Bling found the stale, half-eaten remains of a sandwich when he came by early in the morning before work, the plate pushed away carelessly by an exhausted Logan making a place for a quick nap on the desk.

At week two after the pictures, Logan asked him to do some legwork. Their usual easy-going working routine was gone as Logan awkwardly fixed on some spot on the wall beside him, seemingly afraid that looking at Bling would trigger the question of what happened to his personal cat burglar.

Of course Bling readily agreed, welcoming the opportunity to use his skills and training again as well as the feeling of thrill and physical exertion that came with this kind of job. But then the evening ended in a close call, only his fast reflexes saving him from a bullet in the head, thanks to a night guard whose scruples didn't prevent him from firing wildly without even calling out a warning first.

For the rest of the night, his nostalgia was forgotten. As he lay in bed brooding, waiting for the rush of adrenalin to subside, he tried to imagine what those missions must be like for Max, for whom a simple arrest could mean the end of her freedom… he wondered whether Logan truly appreciated the risks she was taking for him and his mission.

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At week three Bling's worries won and he gave up being subtle. Pulling the office chair closer, he sat down heavily next to Logan, who pretended to be far more occupied with his work than he'd ever been lately.

He opened the conversation without any kind of preamble, assuming from the way Logan's hands had stiffened over the keyboard that his friend knew what to expect anyway. "Look, Logan, I've seen the pictures, I can understand that you're shocked. I am too… but

what exactly happened between you and Max?"

For a moment it seemed as if Logan was avoiding an answer as he rubbed his long fingers roughly over his forehead, revealing a tiredness only partially stemming from lack of sleep. Then finally the strain of the last weeks poured out with one long breath. "She caught me with the pictures. She didn't say anything, wasn't even angry, just looked at me…" He hesitated, brow creased, his voice taking an absent note while he searched for the right words to describe what he'd seen in Max that day. "….as if she deserved all this… Then she walked away. And now…" a deep sigh, "she doesn't want to talk with me anymore."

"It's not her fault, Logan. Who knows how we might have reacted growing up like she did, being abused like that. You just have to give her some time." After all the time that had already passed, repeating his mantra seemed like nothing more but an empty promise … but still, Bling kept telling himself, if he could just keep Logan from giving up on Max, things might get better again.

Again, Logan's only answer was a shrug, in his subdued stubbornness refusing to put into words his overwhelming helplessness in dealing with the complicated mess the photos had brought. They had not only devastated the delicate beginnings of a his relationship with Max, but her hurt retreat had suddenly catapulted him back into the traumatizing isolation of the time when Eyes Only had been the compensation for everything he'd lost. He was caught between Lydecker's manipulative suggestions, still fresh and powerful, and desperately wanting Max back every time he found himself waiting for the familiar sounds of a picked lock, every morning he faced another day promising nothing but a never ending parade of crime and misery.

Bling had thought that getting Logan to acknowledge all this would have been a step forward, might have led them to discuss what could be done… Logan's answer, however, was a testimony of his defeated guilt and the fatalistic belief that the trust between him and Max had been irreparably damaged.

"I know. It's not her fault." With that he turned back to the screen, randomly opening windows to signal Bling that their conversation was over.

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Seeing that this issue wasn't going to be resolved from Logan's side, Bling started to think that talking to Max might be more effective. So one evening he went over to Crash, figuring it was a neutral place where she might not feel cornered by his presence. He discovered her on the far side of the room, drinking and laughing with her friends seemingly untroubled by anything going on beyond the noisy, carefree partying. And still, as soon as she'd spotted him, her amused smirk faded into an expression of hopeful seriousness. Her eyes, huge and childlike, didn't leave him as she excused herself from her friends to weave through the crowd into his direction, as if he was the one person who could magically fix things. Bling appreciated hear trust, knew that it meant a lot coming from Max… and so was even more afraid to disappoint her. All he could do was try to talk to them, hoping it might have some effect.

When he asked her if she would come for a walk she followed him out without a question, her face still wearing that expectant expression, now mingled with the nervous anxiety that her one remaining connection to Logan, might be bringing bad news. Bling wanted to hug her, to cover the distance between them and sooth the lost little girl threatening to break through her tough exterior in moments like this… but he knew that she wouldn't accept such an emotional gesture.

Once outside, they trailed along the dark street side by side, each deep in thought, yet connected by the common object of their ponderings. Somehow, Bling mused with a faint, ironic smirk, it was typically Logan to be so present even when he was absent.

It was she who opened the conversation after a few minutes, her tone light, yet just a bit too rushed to be genuine. "How is he?"

Still, Bling's answer matched her casual approach, leaving it to Max to steer their conversation. "Oh, you know Logan. Obsessive as usual and, as usual, he could do with more sleep and food and breaks …."

She gave him a sideways glance, marked both by relief and impatience at his vague answer. "You know what happened, right?"

It was more a resigned statement than a question and so Bling simply nodded. Observing Max from the corner of his eye, he waited for her to go on and offer some explanations, whether it was about her brother or Logan, or maybe even Manticore. But she remained silent, oddly serious, as they made their way through the Seattle night, as if it was of utmost importance to her to keep moving.

"Max…" Now, as he got to the point of their meeting, Bling's voice became more intense, more compassionate, willing Max to comprehend Logan in all his intricate contradictions. "You know how he is, he takes everything more seriously, thinks more deeply, has moral standards not even a saint could fulfill. It's what drives him, makes him feel responsible for saving the world and put Eyes Only before everything else… And with this, he's extra sensitive just because it's you."

Normally the fact that she didn't fight his allusion with a quick 'We're not like that', otherwise coming as reliable as a reflex, would have been a reason for celebrating. Now it was just another sign of how serious the situation was. She seemingly hadn't even heard him as she just continued to stare ahead, her voice hovering somewhere in between a sober statement of fact and remorse. "I know how he is. It's why I trust his judgment. If Logan thinks, I'm a killing-machine, a mindless soldier then I am. Who am I to argue him?"

It was the fatalistic acceptance of Logan's judgment that made Bling stop. It just didn't fit the Max he knew who never hesitated to stand up for her own opinion no matter whether it earned her Logan's annoyed snapping or disapproving glare. In this, however, she seemed willing to accept Logan's shocked first reaction as the ultimate verdict on her character, like she had no say, no right to fight his unspoken accusations or explain what had happened. Logan had simply confirmed what she'd thought of herself all along, he verified that horror and rejection were the only possible attitude towards someone like her.

As they stood facing each other in the hushed chill of a deserted backyard, Bling found himself searching for the right words to explain Logan's behavior, a confusing mix of morals and emotions rattled by the unexpected confrontation with the brutal reality of her childhood. He thought about telling her that she had only seen his immediate reaction, not all the doubt and self-doubt in the weeks after… but instead he just uttered the one thing that really mattered. "It's not your fault Max…. and Logan knows that."

Hearing his voice again, warm with compassion and understanding, Max gazed up from her pensive inspection of an oily puddle, again displaying that vulnerable wish to believe in Bling and his knowledge of Logan.

It were rare moments like this, when her usual toughness dissolved into that childlike look, that made Bling really realize what Max had been going through, all the opportunities she'd missed. She had been born into the barbaric experiment of sick minds, threatened with brutal treatment if she didn't comply with her orders and had grown up with the continuing lesson that a soldier's life was worth nothing at all and. It wasn't fair.

With a quick step covering the distance between them, Bling reached out to Max, softly taking her by her shoulders. His hands seemed almost violently huge on her petite frame. Then, as she didn't fight his actions, he pulled her into a hug, carefully embracing her as if she could break.

She still didn't react, just leaned against him with the limp passivity of a rag doll. It was an apathetic weariness that was oddly unsettling from someone normally bouncing with energy, always active, never resting, keeping the thoughts and loneliness from catching up.

They stood in silence for another moment until Bling spoke again, his serene voice offering his empathy. "I don't like seeing either of you like this."

At that she broke their embrace to with a rough movement of her shoulders, shaking of his comforting warmth for the familiar consolation of solitude. Already retreating, she looked back to him over one shoulder, her voice crisp and clear in the chilly air. "Me neither, Bling." Her gaze lingered on, calmly regarding him with the aching regret of leaving behind everybody reminding her of Logan. "Me neither."

Then, before he could reply, she turned and slowly walked away, a dark, forlorn figure in the cutting light of the flickering lanterns.

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